And since then what it has cost me,――all the wealth and friends it’s lost me, All the trouble, care, and sorrow, cankering my bosom’s core, Can’t be mentioned in these verses; till, at length, my heartfelt curses Gave I to this cruel parrot, who quite coolly scanned me o’er―― Wicked, wretched, cruel parrot, who quite coolly scanned me o’er, Laughed, drew several corks, and swore. “Parrot!” said I, “bird of evil! parrot still, or bird or devil! By the piper who the Israelitish leader played before, I will stand this chaff no longer! We will see now which is stronger. Come, now,――off! Thy cage is open――free thou art, and there’s the door! Off at once, and I’ll forgive thee;――take the hint, and leave my door.” But the parrot only swore. And the parrot never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the very self-same perch where first he sat in days of yore; And his only occupations seem acquiring imprecations Of the last and freshest fashion, which he picks up by the score; Picks them up, and, with the greatest _gusto_, bawls them by the score, And will swear for evermore. _Our Miscellany_ (which ought to have come out, but didn’t), by E. H. Yates and R. B. Brough, 1856. ―――――――― THE CAT-FIEND. (_An Original Adaptation._) On a bleak evening of December I sat alone in my gloomy chambers and brooded over the past. I had sought in vain to turn the current of my thoughts by plunging into metaphysical researches: _Watts on the Mind_ lay open, but unheeded, beside me. Never had the apartment worn so ghostly an aspect. My lamp threw a fitful gleam upon the sumptuous but sombre furniture; the fire was expiring, yet I lacked energy to put on more coals. If I had been expiring myself I should have hated the man who put coals upon me. The chief object of my memories was a young person to whom I had formerly been attached. I dwelt fondly, but bitterly, upon the day when my LEONORA, accompanied by her vulgar and intrusive mother, had brightened my dingy rooms in ――――’s Inn with her presence to tea, previous to visiting Drury Lane Theatre. That was all over now; LEONORA married into the city and left me desolate. I am not even acquainted with her present name; but it fills me with despondency to think that her graceful form will never again press the velvet lining of my quaintly carved arm-chair. While I sat buried in my sad reflections, it seemed as though there came a soft rapping at my outer door. It was growing so late that I made my mind up to disregard the summons. “It is only BRIGGS,” I murmured; “if I admit him he will weary me with platitudes until the dawn. Or it is POTTER, perchance, advanced in liquor, I will none of him.”